Classic Rock One-Shots

Body Paint (~ Syd Barrett)

The hair of the paintbrush wandered on the canvas, making it turn red. The large movements Cleo made with it formed red and orange waves, as if she was painting a burning landscape. She stepped backwards and screwed up her eyes a little, focusing on the middle of it. With the tip of her paintbrush, which she dipped into red or black paint, she fixed some details, like a pattern on the skin of the dancing woman she made appear, or the movement of her black hair floating behind her shoulders. The naked body of this same woman was covered with different drawings, all representing love and insanity at the same time.

Cleo sighed and took a step backwards once again. This time, it was over. She quickly signed the canvas and wiped her slightly sweaty forehead with her wrist. At the same moment, the door of the studio opened, revealing a tall and slender young man, with short and coal black hair. He was wearing a black turtleneck falling on his dark jeans, with which he wore leather Beatle boots.

The young man jumped at her sight and his thick eyebrows frowned, as his dark eyes scanned the door he had just opened: there was no doubt, he was at the right studio. He looked back at Cleo and cleared his throat. “Sorry, perhaps I came too early, I booked the studio for three o'clock.”

“Oh” she exclaimed, taking a look at her wristwatch, before widening her eyes. “No, you're right on time! It's just me who took too long. I'm very sorry, I'm packing my stuff and I'm leaving. You already can settle your equipment, but I must leave my painting here so it can dry.”

“No problem. Do you need any help?”

“No, it'll be okay, but thanks” she grinned. Cleo gathered her paintbrushes, palette, glass and her old rags, taking the whole to the paint-stained sink. She washed the paintbrushes first, before washing the other things, except the rags. With them, she dried the whole, throwing it inside a bag – after all, she would have all the time to tidy that when at home. Meanwhile, the young man was standing before her painting, a finger covering his lips, his elbow resting on his bent arm. He was staring at it with a light grin.

“Your painting is quite impressive, I must say” he spoke. “I love the way you do the hair, it looks quite realistic. I can't do that. Does it have a particular meaning?”

“Well...” she looked up, getting closer to him, her hands in her pocket. “I wanted to represent the moment when a woman falls in love. She's dancing because of the happiness that suddenly takes hold of her. The blurry background shows the sudden insanity that lives inside her, because she loses herself in this love, and can't really live like she normally does. And her body paintings represent her current feelings.”

“Wow” he smiled with cocked eyebrows. “And may I ask why you painted such a thing? Are you feeling like dancing in this blurry world?”

“I felt like doing so recently, but it didn't really last long.”

“I'm sorry for you.”

“It's okay, I don't feel sad at all. Every feeling I get, I use it to paint or draw. It's more inspiring that nything else!” Cleo smiled at the young man, who was widely grinning at her. She cleared her throat and clapped her hands once, before grabbing her bag and throwing it across her shoulder. “I'm leaving the studio, so you can have it all on your own. You can take the painting and put it somewhere, so you can use the easel. I don't care.”

“No way. I'm going to run your wonderful painting if I take it off the easel! There's an extra one in the cupboard.”

“Oh yes, this one's hard to settle, let me help you.”

Cleo put down her bag and opened the cupboard in which the extra easel had been put. She rummaged through her pocket and got the key, opening the door. The young man helped her take the easel out of the cupboard, and both used their strength to settle it properly. When it was done, she put her hand on her hip and handed him the keys. “Well, it was nice meeting you...”